


The night has a thousand eyes

by captainofthegreenpeas



Category: Historical RPF, Original Work
Genre: 16th Century CE, Beheading, Blood, Death, M/M, Protestant Reformation, Tragedy, Tudor Era, star crossed lovers, warning: vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 13:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/captainofthegreenpeas
Summary: Erasmus has a letter that must be sent.





	The night has a thousand eyes

Jaap bolted out of bed. There was a bump from upstairs, and no time to waste. There was little by way of gold or jewels that thieves could want, but there were shelves and shelves of books, and thieves who could not read could still smash and rip and run and sell. He grabbed his knife, lit a taper from the fire and stabbed it into a lantern. Swinging frantically, the lantern lit his path up the stairs and into his master’s room.

 

Erasmus was at his desk. His eyes were bright, his face pink and shining.

“Ah, my boy, there you are. Deliver this letter, please.” Jaap took and surveyed it.

“Master… do you want this published?”

“Published? No, no need to go that far. Just see that it is delivered, English roads are shitty, but they’re worse in winter. I’ve had some more thoughts on the King’s great matter, I’ve reread Lamentations- I mean, Leviticus, yes, I’ve reread Leviticus and Deuteronomy, and I need to tell More, Sir Thomas More, you know of his house? It’s in Chelsea, you know, he’s very famous, it’ll get there.”

“I cannot, master… the King’s matter is solved. Queen Katherine is dead. Anna Bullen is dead. Sir Thomas More… he went to the block, last year.”

 “To the block? What did he do there?”

 _The same thing everyone goes to the block does_ Jaap thought. “He…he died. The executioner cut his head off and he died.”

“Oh.” A long pause followed, so long that Jaap thought that perhaps his master had forgotten everything that had just been said. “Then burn it.”

It was just as well. Jaap collected his employer’s writings as diligently and lovingly as if they were the scrolls of scripture, but this letter was worthless. It staggered from Latin to Dutch, chapters and verses tripping over each other. Sentences were born in jest and died in recrimination. Jaap placed the letter under a log, watched it curl and close like the petals of a flower.

 

He heard a slump behind him, but he assumed it was a book sliding off a stack of paper, or a log slipping on the fire. It was not until he turned around that he saw Erasmus’s gown piled on the floor and wondered for a second what it was doing there. Once he realised Erasmus was crumpled underneath it, he felt an inward explosion of panic. There was a retching sound, and a puddle of vomit and what looked like soot spread in a sudden tide. Torn between running for a physician or a priest or at least their host, the only thing Jaap knew to do was to wrap his arms around Erasmus and heave him up.

 

“ _No! Stop!_ ” Erasmus retched again and groaned. “I don’t want to move, it hurts.”

“Master, I need to get you to your bed, you need to rest-“

“Leave me here, please”.

Jaap’s grip slackened, easing Erasmus back to the floor, dragging him gently to make sure that Europe’s greatest humanist would not die in a puddle.

 

“I’ll get a physician- no, I’ll wake up Herr Froben and he’ll know where the physician lives-“ Erasmus grabbed at his arm, pinching tightly. “No, don’t leave me, _please_ , you can’t leave me here alone.”

“Only for a moment-“

“Stay with me!”

 

In the first still moment, Jaap made a silent prayer for forgiveness and knelt down beside Erasmus, holding him gingerly. His face felt hot, his fingers cold. Everything had happened so quickly, Erasmus had seemed fine the day before, complaining of stomach ache and forgetfulness and bloating as usual.

 

“Do you need wine, or water?”

“No, stay. Talk.”

“Talk? But a priest- the last rites-“

“ _No_. You won’t find one, not, not at this hour. It’s my soul God wants. Not ritual.” Erasmus smiled. “Thomas wrote something about death, and last things. He said dying is a fearful thing, because all your family are there, all wanting to know, what they’ll all get. Were they there, that day? Was a friend there? I should have been there, did he die alone?”

“I don’t know,” Jaap admitted. “He said “my beard has committed no treason, it must be spared the axe,” and he lifted it out of the way.”

Erasmus smiled weakly. “He would say that. What did he say to the crowd, on the scaffold?”

“He said, “I die the king’s good servant-“”

“-and God’s first?” Erasmus guessed. It was starting to come back to him now. “ ‘Pothinus matched Mark Antony in crime: they slew the noblest Romans of their time. The helpless victims they decapitated, an act of infamy with shame related. One head was Pompey’s, who brought triumphs home, the other Cicero’s, the voice of Rome’.” Erasmus sighed. “I can remember all of that, but I cannot name who said it.”

“…Juvenal?” Jaap guessed.

“No, not him.” His mind rolled around and around on the question, like a wheel knocked off its axle, losing speech and speed with each circle. Erasmus wondered where More’s head was now, if his eyes were closed when it sat on a spike, or whether he stared sightlessly out to sea. He thought of that round, noble face, melting into the clay, of blood sliding down the spike, or dripping between the scaffold boards.  Like the refrain of a song, he saw in his mind the axe falling over and over again, the rush and the strike. He thought of More resting his chin on the block the same way he would prop it on Erasmus’ shoulder, only for an axe to stroke his neck instead of Erasmus’ hand.

 

“Master, don’t… try not to look down.” Jaap searched for something to staunch the flow, and for one moment nearly used an old letter.

“Give that to me.” When Jaap handed it to him, Erasmus pressed it between his hands. “An audience of one, yes, always. Dear God.” He closed his eyes, the pain sinking behind his face, and the fire was dead before Jaap could bring himself to move.

**Author's Note:**

> I've done my best to be accurate, but I've exaggerated how fast dysentery works, though Erasmus did die suddenly and without the last rites, apparently. "an audience of one" is a reference to a letter between Erasmus and More where one of them (I can't remember which) promised to support the other "even as an audience of one" or words to that effect. Erasmus seems a bit out of it in this chapter, but obviously that's because he's dying so he's not thinking properly. He would have heard about More's execution shortly after it happened, but his delirium here made him forget.


End file.
